A Brighter Shade of Blue
by BabalooBlue
Summary: We are our choices. (Jean-Paul Sartre)


_Buy some furniture, or admit that you're empty inside_, House had dared him.

_You're afraid_, he had said. Afraid of what? Furniture? Don't make me laugh, House.

The man knew just which buttons to press. He always did.

_You can pick anything you like, James_, his grandmother had said at the store. _What do you want?_ He couldn't have been much more than six or seven. He remembered running his hand over every single toy car, never taking his eyes off Danny's silent face. When his fingers touched the dark green one with the removable top, Danny's eyes lit up.

_This one, Grandma, I want this one._

Dorm rooms were dorm rooms, nothing to furnish. Space for his books, a desk and a bed was all he needed.

Furnishing their first tiny apartment with Sam should have been exciting, an adventure.

_I'd love to pick out the bedroom_, she had said and smiled seductively. _You can have the living room._ Two hours later Sam was done and he had yet to choose a single piece. Sam's face lit up when she saw that he was going to leave this to her. She had found out that she loved decorating.

Bonnie had found the perfect house for them through her office, fully furnished. _But if you like we can redesign and pick our own things._ Neither of them minded the color and fabric choices of the previous owners, so apart from replacing some pieces they never got around to starting over.

Julie had inherited some precious antiques from her grandmother, so she commissioned someone to find matching pieces and design the apartment around them. _Do you like it_, she had asked when everything had finally come together. The light in her eyes was brighter than the fake old chandelier, which now graced their bedroom.

He didn't mind. All he needed was some closet space.

_There is a little room in your overall budget to redesign your office, James. Use it as you see fit, you probably want to replace the furniture to make the space your own._

His predecessor's choice had been the choice of an older, settled physician, lending some gravitas to the generally bright and modern look of the hospital. On his first day he had stood in the middle of his new office, taking in the dark wood of the big desk and the shelves behind it. They were in perfect condition and there was enough space for his books. The dark, cave-like look of the room on this rainy day was quite reassuring. The next day he bought two framed movie posters to put up in the empty spaces on the wall and logged an order for a huge ball pit for the kids' oncology ward.

_Buy some furniture, or admit that you're empty inside_, House had said.

As much as he hated them, House's challenges usually worked on him like a charm. Not this time, though. He should have just bought a new couch to replace the butt-ugly one House had insisted they keep when they first moved in. But he hadn't.

Come to think of it, that had probably been the start of House's dare, subtle as it was. Now they had moved past subtle.

_You're afraid_.

Entering a furniture store as big as a medium-sized Texas ranch, he realized that he wasn't afraid, not as such. He could do this.

There had been one time that he remembered choosing something for himself. Not what he thought someone else wanted. No, what _he_ wanted. And even then it had taken both Amber and House pushing him. It had been a torturous and, in the end, disappointing experience. He had hated the waterbed he had fancied his whole adult life.

What do you want, James?

Considering that he couldn't even tell the clerk whether he preferred a leather- or a fabric-covered couch, he obviously really didn't know what he wanted.

To satisfy House, he could just pick the first couch he saw, because how would House be able to tell it wasn't what he had wanted and consciously selected?

He had cheated his way through plenty of House's challenges in the past. They both had. But for some reason, he wasn't prepared to cheat this time. House's words had hit a nerve. How could it be that he didn't know what he wanted? In forty years of living, of making thousands and thousands of decisions, he should be able to say what he, not someone else, liked.

As a child he had known he liked the bright yellow car more than the green one he had ended up taking because Danny loved it so much. But somehow in all those years since, somewhere along the way, he had lost the connection to his own wants.

No, he wasn't afraid – he was terrified.

Terrified of looking beyond who everyone thought James Wilson was, what he liked and disliked, looking into that part of himself where his wants and needs resided, the things that made him who he was, and finding

nothing.

Fleeing the store, he hurried out into the parking lot, searching for his car. Gray, it was gray. Looking out across a sea of cars in various shades of gray, it hit him. He was as gray as any of those cars, one in a crowd. Blending in, was that what his life was about?

House seemed his polar opposite in this respect – he picked his motorbike extra flashy, wore sneakers with suits and refused to buy his canes in regular medical supply stores because they had fewer '_bitchin' choices'_. Where he was gray and blended in, House practically screamed color.

What do _you_ want, James?

He was not going to pull out of this challenge. But he was not going to cheat either, he decided and turned back.

Maybe it was time to openly admit what he liked.

He liked that bright spot of color in his life.

House would figure out that he had used a decorator, there was nothing he could do about that – so he decided to go all in with the one thing he knew he wanted.

He decided that he didn't mind losing a dare – the payoff would be worth the humiliation. Seeing that blue flash of joy was always worth a little humiliation.

_I like what this says about you, Wilson._

The man knew just which buttons to press.

Come to think of it, so did he.


End file.
